


The Burdens We Carry

by SephrinaRose



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, Bittersweet, Death, Derek's fault, Gen, Guilt, Mild References, Pack Feels, Past Suicide, Reference to Depression, Sad, Stiles Dies, Suicide Elements, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 21:39:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3666162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SephrinaRose/pseuds/SephrinaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every single on of them had a burden they carried.</p><p>Derek had the death of his entire family weighing him down, praying on his every thought. Issac had his broken family to haunt his memories, to haunt him. John had the death of his wife, of his only love. And Scott.... Scott had a mix of everything. His powers, his curse. The bills he and his mother drowned under. The ghost of his father on the stairs of his home.</p><p>But not one of them. Not one...was as heavy as this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Burdens We Carry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel/gifts).



> Warnings: A mention of suicide. Reference to depression. Suicidal parts very mild, but if it is a Trigger for you, please be careful. Past reference. Does not contain suicidal thoughts. 
> 
> Please enjoy! 
> 
> This is a gift to my very first reviewer! Thankyou for your support Angel!

Every single one of them had a burden they shouldered.

Derek had the death of his entire family weighing him down, praying on his every thought. Issac had his broken family to haunt his memories, to haunt him. John had the death of his wife, of his only love. And Scott.... Scott had a mix of everything. His powers, his curse. The bills he and his mother drowned under. The ghost of his father on the stairs of their family home.

 

But not one of them. Not one...was as heavy as _this_.

They shouldered their shared burden carefully, evenly. As though by being careful they could make their burden lighter. Make it easier to carry.

 

It didn't.

 

They were all dressed in the best they could manage in times like this. Just pressed shirts and dark slacks. He probably deserved better, considering everything that had been done for them in return. But it couldn't be helped. And it wasn't a grand affair, wasn't extensive or big. Just small, closed off.

But that didn't mean it hurt any less.

 

They moved as a unit, eerily in sync as though they'd practiced this everyday, just waiting for their chance to perform. But this moment couldn't have been less planned. They didn't plan it, not at all. Nobody did.

How could they? How could someone be so cruel?

Feet marched, looking straight ahead. Bitten lips and white knuckles becoming the only things keeping them grounded, keeping them sane. Because this burden was bigger than any. Heavier than any.

It was possibly the worst pain in the world.

And they would know, they'd felt a _lot_. From their own in problems and grief's, all adding up to their collective soul-crushing burdens. For the deaths of the people they loved. Erica, Boyd, Claudia...and every other soul that had been lost.

But somehow... Somehow this felt worse.

...and maybe because, this time, it was completely and utterly their _fault_.

 

John's fault for not watching. For not keeping a close enough eye on them. For turning away from his problems to his ever present amber liquid. Just sitting and waiting for him in it's glass bottle of muted grief.

Issac for not paying enough attention. Because he was pack. He was Derek's eyes and ears in school. But he'd turned away, focus turning from his duties in his rebellion against Derek's wishes. And it wouldn't be so bad. He was just a teenager after all. It was okay to rebel, just a little.  
But not when other people suffered because of it.

Derek for not caring enough. Yes, he was busy man. He had a pack to mend and a life to take control of. But his pack was supposed to be his main priority. His transcending focus, higher than everything else. But that clear separation had changed, and everything had blurred.

The last time that this had happened, he'd lost two of his pack. Two of his limbs. Twice that his heart had been _ripped from his chest_. You'd think he would learn from his mistakes.

And this certainly was a terrible, gut-wrenching _mistake_.

And Scott....because he had forgotten. And that was it. He'd _forgotten_. Typical Scott to forget important things. But he'd always had somebody to back him up.

Now he was on his own.

Because he had forgotten. He'd let it slide. Let it fall away to the "should probably remember but never will" part of his brain. There were too many things there. And this was a fact he never should have forgotten. But now it would haunt him for the rest of his life.

 

It was their fault. Completely and honestly. There was no denying it.

 

And not even the "I'm sorry" written in blood on the bedroom wall could ease their pain. Ease the weight of this burden from their shoulders.

It shouldn't even be a burden. It shouldn't even be here. They shouldn't have to be here. Nobody should have to be here today.

If they just watched, paid attention, cared or _remembered_.

But nobody did any of that. Nobody even decided to uphold a single on of those desperately needed elements for support, and even if they did... All the others would have crumpled without every single one being there.

Just like now. They all needed to shoulder this burden. If one of them bailed out, the rest would perish beneath the _sheer_ weight of it.

 

But it wasn't just the physical weight. That could be handled by a single werewolf - And they had before. Derek had held this exact weight, _just without the hard edges of wood digging into his palms_ -...It was the emotional burden that came with it.

Because the physical weight was nothing compared the gravitational pull of what they had done. Because they'd done this. They had done it all, together. Their collective faults hat had seemed so small had caused something so life _destroying_.

They might as well had been the ones to take the knife to Stiles wrists.

And he'd bled out. He'd bled _everywhere_. Staining the carpet and bed sheets. The homework on his desk. Everything absorbing the blood so eagerly. Like they'd been deprived for too long.

 

Sucking the last parts of Stiles that he'd had left. Taking away the things that hadn't already been taken from him. Because it was absorbed by everything, stained everything as he stumbled and crawled across the room. Crying and screaming in pain and guilt. Because it stained _everything_.

It was even on his wall.

The "I'm sorry" didn't cut it. Didn't make them feel better. Because he shouldn't have been apologising in the first place. Shouldn't struggle to write on his wall with shaking fingers, dipped in his own blood as he slowly died. They _should_ have been there for him. He shouldn't of had to apologise for dealing with his pain in the only way he had left.

Because there should have been other outlets.

But they didn't _think_. Because he'd never taken harm to himself before. Not ever. They didn't think. And he must have been bottling it up for a very long time. He hadn't hurt himself sparingly, hadn't hurt himself every so often to keep the pain at bay.

 

He just did it all at once.

 

And he was so strong. Many would think him weak for falling so far, for taking up on desperate measures. But he wasn't. He really _wasn't_. He was so strong. So resilient. He'd stayed strong for so long, rolling with the punches.... even when the damage they caused was still felt long after the physical had dissapered. Building and building as more pain was dealt out. Adding and adding.

He'd stayed upright. He kept up with them, despite his fragile human state. And his strength took on a much higher form than his body should of allowed. He dealt with everything much better than any human you would find could. He worked so hard. But, even that almost supernatural relish inch could overpower the weakness - he was not _weak_ \- of his human body.

Because there was a limit to what he could physically take.

 

And it was their fault. Their burden. They had to shoulder this. Not matter how it threatened to crush them. Threatened to destroy them 

They would walk. They would walk together, as a single unit. They would walk in time, in place. They would hold their burden carefully, protectively. They would shoulder it willingly, let it weigh them down. They would grip the golden handles that shined in the afternoon light securely, even if their knuckles turned white. They would support the wood with their palms, spread to stabilise it upon their shoulders.

And they would march with it. Would march, even if their eyes blurred with tears and their feet ached from the overwhelming pressure. They would march Stiles' coffin, and take him to his final resting place. Take him to his grave.

Because it was the least they could do for the boy they left to die.


End file.
